


We've Not Yet Lost All Our Graces

by Omnibard



Series: We've Not Yet Lost All Our Graces [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, F/F, F/M, Gen, Lucis-Accordo Alliance, M/M, Multi, Old Retinue, Political Alliances, Princes & Princesses, Princess AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2019-10-12 09:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17465327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibard/pseuds/Omnibard
Summary: The Lucis-Accordo Alliance has been reforged with a royal marriage!  Prince Regis Lucis Caelum wed Princess Ariel Maxine Lucja Trammel in the hopes of defending all free nations from the encroaching Empire and its terrible growing might.  But there is no love in the union.  Instead, a tangling web of mistrust binding together Regis's old friends and his bride together as they hurtle toward an uncertain future.





	1. Matrimony

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lioness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13995162) by [Omnibard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omnibard/pseuds/Omnibard). 



“Stunning!” The crowd murmured, “So beautiful!”

“Such a bride!”

“What a lovely princess!”

“They look perfect together.”

Ariel heard them over the bells and piano that accompanied her entrance and journey down the aisle.

She walked alone.  Though Accordaen custom dictated a symbolic ‘giving away’ of a noble born daughter from father to bridegroom, King Trammel had done so privately, in his office, with an intermediary, an arsenal of  _ avocatti _ , a lengthy contract, and a scowl, months ago, before the princess left Altissia.  He’d sent a herald to bear witness to this Lucian ceremony. Ariel could see him at the very front of the congregation.  She recognized him, and knew he had not been present that day when she choked down her pride and accompanied Prince Regis into the presence of her parents and Parliament leaders and announced their intention to formalize an alliance through a royal marriage.

Nor had he been there in the more private conference between herself and her parents as they condemned her decision and vilified both her and Regis’s intentions.  This must be overturned, for Accordo’s sake, they’d said.

But Accordo approved of the union.  Parliament all but unanimously supported their decision, and when news spread through the people, the entire city of Altissia had stopped to hold yet  _ another _ fete in honor of the Lucian visitors.

What about the Lord Ulldor? The King and Queen had asked: what happens when the Empire takes offense?  But Parliament, clearly goaded by the Market of Tides, had insisted that a new, strong alliance with Lucis would deter any retribution from Niflheim.

When Lucian newspapers got hold of the news, they painted Prince Regis a hero, rescuing the beautiful foreign princess from a doomed marriage to a true villain.  Each reprint of the story was more fantastic than the last. Accordaen media  _ adored _ this version of the story and seemed eager to out-romance their new allied rivals.  Regis Lucis Caelum became the very  _ face _ of ‘true romance’ within weeks.

Niflheim also published news on the story.  Once. In a very small column announcing that there would no longer be a wedding in Gralea due to ‘irreconcilable differences between the nuptial parties’ .  Strong insinuations in the language identified these ‘irreconcilable differences’ being that the Princess of Accordo turned out to be a faithless whore.

She walked alone, the massive and opulent train of her gown sounding like the swelling surf in her wake.  It was a masterful and beautiful garment, and though heavier than any other gown she’d ever worn, it moved with her body so gracefully, she seemed to float effervescently toward her groom.  It was a gift of goodwill from one of the most prominent designers in Altissia-- a queenly gift worth more than its weight had it been made of gold.

Not to be outdone, the Insomnian designer commissioned for the tuxedos had gifted the lot of them to the groom party.

This had inspired the caterer.  The limo company. The decorators…

The ‘most romantic, fairytale wedding of the century’ was turning out to be very inexpensive for the tax-payers of Lucis and Accordo.

All that was left was for the fairytale Prince and Princess to play their parts.

He was smiling at her, and his smile was brilliant, lighting up his handsome face, and she was very certain she alone saw how the light did not reach his eyes.  His dark green eyes remained cold.

He despised her even still.

She supposed she preferred it.  It made it easier to remain angry with him for caging her, trapping her into openly defying her parents before their court, humiliating her, and then dragging her here to wear his collar.  That was his only offer-- a royal marriage and a strong alliance, or ruination before the entire world.

What choice had she?

Her people celebrated this moment, celebrated this man as her rescuer, her  _ redeemer _ , but he was her captor, and this marriage her prison.  This was her punishment for daring to taste freedom beyond the demands of her station.

She had trespassed beyond the propriety of a princess, and so he would make her his future queen.

For what was a princess save the instrument of a well-born man’s gain?

All her good breeding, all her grueling schooling, her poise, her beauty… the sum of her worth was for this moment when she became the property of another before all the world…   
And the world celebrated.

Her parents did not grieve her loss, only that she had sold herself to  _ this _  man instead of  _ that _ one.

She walked alone.

She  _ was _ alone.

Even when she stood at his side and he took her hand, she knew she was alone.  Though this ceremony would symbolize them being woven together in a union, it was only for show.

They did not love each other.

There was no romance.  That was for the people-- something to make them happy in this dark time of war and uncertainty.

She would still be alone.

The notion rested in the pit of her belly, swelling and freezing over, growing heavier and heavier with every breath.  In Altissia, she never feared loneliness. Someone was always around to entertain, to share with, to laugh with. In Altissia she had no enemies, there she was the beautiful princess, the girl of sunshine, much beloved.

_ Most beloved. _

Here…

Here she felt the eyes of the old King and his Council, and felt the weight of their cold judgement.  She couldn’t be sure whether they knew the sordid story behind this wedding, but she  _ did _ know they were not altogether approving.  Prince Regis had arranged the entire thing, alliance and all, quite hurriedly without their input, and as he was the Lucian darling and heir, it was easier for them to lay the blame at  _ her _ feet.

She was a stranger here.

Still.  They would not see her shrink.  She would not falter.

He could not conquer her with this.

She spoke her oaths with a clear and steady voice, and Regis did the same.  At the height of the ceremony, she turned and faced him and he pulled back her veil.

Then he bent and kissed her hand lightly over the knuckles.  The crowd whispered and murmured approval.

A kiss was customary, and for such a courtly and romantic occasion as this, such a gentlemanly gesture was more than sufficient.

Indeed, a more intimate embrace might have had far less impact.

But Ariel knew, then, that he would never kiss her lips.  They might as well be painted with poison. Such was the depth of his scorn.

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind of faces and names, hundreds of thousands congratulating her in a flurry of bows, curtsies and hand-shakes.  At some hour, she was permitted to change out of the weighty ceremony gown into the lighter dress chosen for the reception. Thankfully, it had been created with dancing in mind and weighed no more than seafoam and moved like liquid.

Her husband danced with her once, the traditional waltz.  She was permitted two more dances, once with the current Shield of the King, and another with one of the lords of the Council, who danced poorly, but with such energy she was prepared to forgive him.

Then duty called, and she was bound to the Prince’s arm like so much jewelry while he mingled with his court.

Dinner was a polite affair, almost quiet compared to the rousing parties she was used to in her homeland, and the frozen weight in her belly along with the lingering gazes from all around left little room for appetite.

A number of toasts were made, and most were in her honor.

To her beauty.

To her grace.

To her prosperity.

To her wealth, and the wealth of all Lucis and Accordo.

To the fruit of her womb.

This was a signal, of some kind, it seemed, for someone at the end of her table abruptly banged his silverware against his plate.  Many joined in, and very quickly, the entire banquet hall was banging a cacophony. Clarus Amicitia was elbowing the prince meaningfully, while he slowly, lowered his wine glass, looking almost sheepish before schooling his face and rising from his chair.  The hall broke into cheers.

The cheers grew when he extended his hand to her and she took it so he could guide her to her feet.  Still holding fast to her, he started to lead her from the table toward the double doors leading to the back corridor.

The reception then started shouting additional toasts:

“To the Prince!  May he be well-equipped!   _ Yosh! _ ”

“May his breath be long!   _ Yosh! _ ”   
“May his pleasure be longer, haha!  _ Yosh! _ ”

“To the Princess!  May her poise abandon her beyond the threshold!   _ Yosh! _ ”

“May her well be deep!   _ Yosh! _ ”

“May her waves be strong!   _ Yosh! _ ”

“And her nails stronger!   _ Yosh! _ ”

They grew more ribald, and likely more so after the doors closed behind them.

Alone in the corridor, Ariel extracted her hand from the man who was now her husband’s grip.  He let her go easily, and instead indicated she accompany him. There was nowhere else to go, though she knew where such a walk would lead.

The conjugal chamber had been prepared without their knowledge, as this was neither his apartments, nor her guest suite.  The bed was a large four post, the sheets black satin. Silver and gold confetti covered nearly every flat surface, even through the open doorway into the connected bathroom.  The princess did not envy the servants the chore of cleaning this all up, nor did she look forward to the torment of trying to brush this out of her long dark hair later.

After… after her duties.

After motioning her inside, Regis let the door fall closed and latch, then ushered her deeper into the room.  Ariel went willingly, shoring up her courage and ire. Oddly enough, she was looking forward to this…

… To him asking or telling her to undress.  Or trying to do it with his own hands.

She approached the bed with the duvet stitched with silver thread already turned down for them and ran her fingers over the satin, brushing aside the shimmering bits that caught in the low lamplight.  Regis went instead for the standing wardrobe and began unbuttoning his waistcoat and pulling his button-down from the waistband of his slacks.

Her heart started to race as she watched him.  He was undressing.

But of course he was, he’d come here to consummate this marriage, had he not?  Such things couldn’t happen while fully clothed. But even still…

Even still…

And it wasn’t as if she’d never seen a naked man before-- swimming nude or mostly so off the piers, was common, and  _ especially _ so in the more rural parts of Accordo.  Beyond that were her studies in biological sciences, modern medicine, and her education in  _ arti di cuscino, _ which every young woman born into a family of means was given. Then there was that afternoon in the hotel, when she tried to carve out a piece of her only for herself, and this man had caught her in the embrace of his younger companion.

She’d wondered then, as she did now, if jealousy had tainted his thinking when he’d discovered them.  After all, it was not long before that she had refused his proposal…

Jealousy and pride.

They would see how well  _ pride _ served the handsome prince of Lucis!

It was unfortunate that he  _ was _ indeed so handsome.  Watching him shrug out of the button-down made her pulse pound through her throat and hands.  The line of Lucis Caelum was one of warrior kings, their fealty laid before Bahamut, Astral of War, and such a lineage combined with his life of war had hewn his flesh into this pleasing shape.  She did not doubt he was just as strong as he looked.

All that was left to wonder was whether he’d be harsh with her.

He’d proven himself cruel enough to ransom the honor of her family and her personal dignity for the price of her freedom and the promise of her kingdom to bleed and bankrupt itself to support him in his war that seemed fated to never, ever end.  What gentleness could she expect from him  _ now _ ?

Those hands steeped in violence pulled his belt open and was unbuttoning his slacks when Regis glanced over his shoulder at her, and she looked away-- she would not suffer to feed his vanity.  Let him believe she found nothing of interest in his direction. She focused her attention instead on sweeping a spot on the bed clear of confetti to sit. Though she could hear him continuing to fuss with clothing over there, she ignore the curious urge to look again and see what was taking so long.

The anticipation was dreadful.

She  _ did _ look up when she heard him step nearer.

Standing at the foot of the bed in a less formal shirt and slacks, the former only half tucked in and not fully buttoned to his throat, her husband ruffled a hand through his hair, fluffing the rich dark waves.  His dark eyes met hers only momentarily before he flashed a half-hearted smile and dipped his head in a mock bow.

“Goodnight, your Grace.”

Then he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.  She heard it lock a moment later.

* * *

 

Regis fussed with his sleeves while giving his instructions to the confused Crownsguard posted at the other end of the corridor, “My bride is resting and is not to be disturbed.  Noone opens this door save myself and Clarus Amicitia.”

“Yes, Highness… Except…”

“What?”   
“... Is… is  _ she _ permitted to open the door?”

“No.” Was his firm reply, then he smiled reassuringly, “I doubt she’ll want to, I mean.  If she wants something, please send for one of us.”

“I… Yes, Highness.”

The Prince was sure he had more questions, but he wasn’t much in the mood to entertain them.  He needed a drink. Ruffling his hair again, feeling it tacky with all the product used to tame into something respectable for the event, he went back to the party.

Weskham found him first, thankfully with two glasses of champagne in his hands.

“You’re early.” His friend said, “Please tell me you haven’t throttled her to death already.”

“I didn’t touch her.”

Wesky was too quick, quirking an eyebrow while offering the glass, “... At all?  That’s not very traditional. I’m quite sure there was something in the contract…”

He would know.  He’d spent a week pouring over the damned Altissian contract, sending it back and forth for new revisions and addendums until it wasn’t full of traps and loopholes to stifle any use out of the alliance at all.  Regis remembered how the King of Accordo had all but legally disowned his daughter and only heir in order to hand the nation over to Niflheim.

He drank deep, the champagne with just enough dry bite to distract him from the dark thoughts. “The damn contract didn’t specify any kind of verification.  It happened. We went into the conjugal chamber and consummated this marriage as much as I’m going to.”

The other man chuckled, “One would think you’d be in a better mood…”

“You ever let a snake in your bed?”

“Not on purpose.”

“I imagine it’s not good for anybody.”

Clarus arrived from across the room just as Weskham said quietly over his glass, “You really didn’t…?”

“She wanted a fight.  I could see it on her face.  You don’t think I’m the sort of man to force a woman--much less a fifteen year old girl, do you?” Regis drained his glass and beckoned a passing waiter for another, “What’s more she’s--” the waiter arrived and Clarus was sharp enough to school his face out of shock, “--absolutely breathtaking.  Just amazingly beautiful, don’t you agree?”

They did and he took another glass with a smile.  The waiter smiled back and murmured congratulations.  Regis turned back to his conversation when he walked away, “... But I have no interest in letting her believe she can twist me around like…”

Clarus looked thoughtful before the Prince pinned him with a look, “Where’s Cor?”

“Balcony,” His Shield sighed, “Making many toasts to your future happiness.”

“Good,” Was Regis’s reply, clapping him on the shoulder, “I’ll need them.”

Then he left them to find his young friend.

 

Fortunately, avoiding the majority of the party was a simple matter of warping out a side window and then over to the balcony in question which the teenager had managed to keep relatively clear by looking  _ particularly _ surly and grim.

“I see you’re doing a masterful job of celebrating, Cor.”

“Your Highness!” The young Crownsguard almost spilled his drink in his hurry to straighten up from resting his elbows on the railing, back to the ballroom.  Waving him off, the Prince settled next to him, mimicking his earlier posture.

But Cor kept staring at him for several moments, before slowly adjusting back, that same cautious suspicion screaming through his body language, “... What are you doing here?  You’re supposed to be--”

“--Consummating my wedding.  I know. Don’t worry about that.  It’s taken care of.”

Regis felt those cool eyes examining his face, so he drank again.

“You’re lying.”

“Excuse you--”

“--Regis, I’ve seen you bed at least three dozen women.  It takes you longer than this to  _ get your dick wet, _ much less satisfy  _ anybody _ .  You didn’t. ...You  _ didn’t _ ?”

“Didn’t want to.”

His young friend’s voice was mystified, “Why?”

“That’s not why I married her, Cor.”

Silence, as the young soldier took the time to process that, then, “... What happens next?”

“Tomorrow we ship that herald back to Accordo in a  _ box _ if we have to to get rid of him…” Sighed the Prince, “And I’ll announce the honeymoon will be postponed in light of the war effort.  Then it’s back to business. Wesky leans on that damn contract and with any luck we’ll get what we need out of Accordo to push back.”

“... And her?  Are you shipping the Princess-- are you sending your  _ wife _ back, too?”

Regis didn’t recognize what he heard in Cor’s voice.  He couldn’t place it as hope or concern or anything specific.  So he watched his face, but that was as useful as it ever was. The silence was telling enough for the soldier, and he looked back at him.

“... No,” He said at last, “Not after all the damn trouble it took to get her here.”

“... Alright.” Was all Cor said, but Regis thought he sounded relieved.


	2. Treacherous Waters

She was standing alone in a blue-green dress, chiffon billowing gracefully around her ankles when she halted to consider the window.  Her great mass of dark hair was pulled up in an incomprehensible weave of gentle curls, leaving an unobstructed view of the plunging backline of the dress, all smooth skin, shoulder blades, and curving spine.

Cor wondered if anyone in the court had said something to her about it.

He tried to keep his admiration of her profile brief, but he noticed the way she worried the nail of her index finger with the fingers of the other hand and thought she looked… troubled.

His feet moved him before he realized exactly what he was doing, or his motivations for doing it.  All too soon he was arriving, and she was turning her head to acknowledge him.

“Your Grace,” His booted heels thudded together and he bowed his head and shoulders.

She laughed quietly, and it sounded strangely self-conscious, “I confess… I don’t know what to call you.  I only know your name…”

Already his heart was starting to race, but he managed to look her in the face.  Her expression, though thoughtful, was also reserved-- something he’d never seen upon her features before.  It made him second-guess himself all the more, “My name is fine.”

“Well, then, Cor, how may be of service?”

“No, I… You…” She blinked at his stumbling words, and he was reminded of Altissia, the way her warm dark eyes invited him like the gleaming waters to go and drown in them… but just for a moment, then he looked aside and cleared his throat, “Your Grace, I was coming to ask that question of  _ you _ .  You seemed… I thought something might be the matter.”

The skin of his neck was heated under his rigid collar.  Foolish of him to behave like this. Only a week ago he had watched her marry Regis.  What was he trying to do?

_ I just thought something might be wrong. _ He assured himself,  _ There is no harm in asking.  It’s part of my job. _

“It’s very kind of you to be concerned for me,” Was her cool reply, and he knew that if anything were indeed the matter that she would not reveal it to him.  A torrent of conflicting emotions twisted through his guts, and the way his back teeth met, setting his jaw, identified one as  _ affront _ .

Her smile was vague and unreadable, but he knew at least, that it was false.  It made him wonder if she thought less of him now that he’d…

… failed her?

… outlasted his usefulness?

… ‘betrayed’ her?

… been less entertaining than expected?

What  _ did _ she think of him?  And why did he still  _ care _ ?  She was his friend’s wife now, anticipated to be his future queen!

“... Am I delaying you from something?” Was her sudden question.

“No.” The abruptness of his reply stunned them both, “I… I’m here waiting for the detail changeover.  I think I’ll be in the meeting.”

“Why shouldn’t you be?  Member of the crowned prince’s retinue as you are…” She mused, “I’m surprised he doesn’t have you at his heels even now.”

She was teasing him, but he didn’t recognize the angle of her barb, nor could he decipher how he felt about it, but all the same, he felt the edge to his tone when he replied, “... Like how surprising it is he doesn’t have you on his arm?”

She blinked again, her false smile faltering, and for a moment, Cor thought he’d gone too far-- overstepped himself-- but then she laughed.  It was a real laugh, and too slowly she covered her mouth with a hand to muffle the merry sound ringing along the corridor.  The remonstrating looks from the gathered court did little to stifle her, but all the same she gestured.

“Will you walk with me?  These gentlefolk are too proper for our conversation, and I so hate to disturb.”

“I…” He was here for a detail.  The meeting chambers could open at any moment…

As if reading his misgivings from his very thoughts, she smiled encouragingly, “Oh come, we’ll surely hear when you’re expected.”

He couldn’t argue with that logic, so he accompanied her further down the corridor, leaving the line-of-sight of the gathered members of court.

 

She didn’t bring up a topic, and he felt awkward alone in her company with his thoughts clamoring loudly in his skull, “Are you adjusting to… life in Insomnia?”

“Well enough,” She shrugged, “for all that I haven’t stepped foot in the city.”

“... You haven’t?”

“I’d like to.  To go out and see it…” Then she faced him, and the excitement in her expression, reflecting in her dark eyes silenced all the warnings that might flare off in his head, “You could take me, couldn’t you?”

“... I… but…”

“Not now, of course not, you’ve your important meeting… But later.  It isn’t as if I’ve a demanding schedule.  Nobody wants to see me at all here in the Citadel, it seems.  You could take me to see the city!  You were born and raised here, I’m sure you know a great deal!”

His thoughts jumbled together, “... Well yes… but… I mean, no, your Grace, there’s a protocol--”

“Yes yes, security protocols to ensure my safety, I understand,” But she kept smiling, and her eyes welcomed him as he drowned, and her hand came up to smooth lightly against the lapel at his chest with her fingertips, and his heart raced beneath them, “But surely everyone knows I’ll be safe with you.  Please say you will, Cor.  Please say you’ll take me--”

“--He’s not taking you anywhere.”

The voice was an electric shock and the young Crownsguard jolted to attention, tearing his eyes from the deep, warm depths of the princess’s eyes to the sharp green of his prince’s, “Your Highness, I--”

“--You don’t have to explain.  I know what’s going on.” Regis said, folding his arms, glaring at them both.  Cor felt the heat climbing up his throat and burning in his ears, but beside him, Princess Ariel was unflustered.  She raised her chin defiantly at her husband, unrepentance written over every inch of her.

Without really knowing why, or what exactly he felt ashamed about-- it wasn’t as if he’d done anything  _ wrong _ \-- Cor began, “... I’m sor--”

“-- Don’t apologize.  This is  _ my _ fault.  I should have known better.  I  _ do _ know better.  So let me fix this right now…”

“Indeed it  _ is _ your fault.” Huffed the princess.

“You two are  _ not _ to be alone together, at all.  There will always be a third person with you if you must speak away from the group.”

Incredulity shocked the blood from Ariel’s beautiful face, “Don’t be absurd!  You cannot--”

“I am the Crowned Prince of Lucis, I damn well  _ can _ .  I cannot force you to honor me as your husband, but I  _ will _ have your obedience as your future lord and King.  Likewise, Cor, you are my friend and I trust you with my life and all that I have, but in this matter I must command you: you will not be alone in any room or space with this woman, henceforth.  We cannot ignore how easily she manipulates you.”

It was Regis who had insisted he accompany them to Altissia, and Regis who had invited him again and again to dispense with the stiff professionalism beaten into him by the military.  It was Regis who had shrugged off their difference in upbringings and insisted it was no real barrier to their friendship.  It was Regis who had made him start to believe, little by little, that he could become something better than just a killing thing for the throne.

Regis  _ believed  _ in him, undoubtedly, and so if Regis was now expressing doubt in him…

…

Then he must have done something  _ wrong _ \-- something that inspired that doubt.  Maybe the improper desires he harbored for the princess-- feelings he’d told himself he would bury and forget-- showed more in his actions and demeanor than he’d thought.

Such a thought was more than enough to quench the flames of his temper.  He saluted, “Yes, your Highness.” Were he his solemn words, “It will not be repeated.”

He meant it.

The Princess was silent.  Regis gave her a stern look, then beckoned for Cor to accompany him back toward the gathered court members to await the start of the meeting.

“Please do not so quickly forget our suspicions concerning her loyalties.  She is my bride, but she is far from my ally.”

“Of course, your High--”

“ _ Cor _ .  I trust you.  It’s  _ her  _ I cannot trust.  You know this, don’t you?”

Blinking, the Crownsguard looked at his friend and shrugged, “Sure, I know, Regis.”

Regis nodded, and Cor wondered if he could feel the scorn of the Princess on his back the same as he did.

It was fine, he supposed, that she didn’t like him.  He’d gotten in enough trouble due to her interferences already.


End file.
